The Streets
by IThoughtMYJokesWereBad
Summary: AU Hilde is a street dancer in L2. One night, after a battle, she runs into the town graffiti artist. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: All rights go to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.**

The Streets

Police sirens wail in the distance, harshly mingling with the hushed chatter floating through the alley. Hilde rolls her shoulders and size up the competition. The crew is small, barely reaching five members, but she knows better than to underestimate anyone – some of the sickest dancers stalk her city's streets. One of Hilde's crewmates saunters up to her, muttering a cocky "These bitches are going down." She merely nods, continuing your stretching ministrations.

Music blasts from a stereo, alerting all the dancers to get with their respective crews and the spectators to back up and watch. The other crew called the unofficial battle, so Hilde and her crew sit back and watch. The five dancers get in position, waiting for the right moment before they burst just as the bass drops. Hilde hears one of her crewmates curse under his breath. They go straight into popping and locking, following the beat to a tee. Spectators call a slew of things, goading Hilde's crew and supporting the newcomers. She has to admit, they move pretty well: never breaking sync, following the beat as one entity.

But it's Hilde's crew's turn.

Leading the formation, Hilde stomps forward, falling straight into a krump routine. She doesn't even have to think of the movements: her hips roll of their own accord, her feet slide and turn with minds of their own, her hair flips all on its own. The music is in her veins, pumping through her heart to every fiber of her being. Behind Hilde, her crew mirrors her, taunting the other crew with their precise and smug actions.

The other crew steps up again. They go for some fancy footwork dances reminiscent of Chris Brown or Justin Timberlake. Hilde feigns boredom, but she's really taking note of their style, memorizing each dance move. Already, she's choreographing a new routine in her head for the next officiated dance off.

The beat morphs once more. And that's when the other dance crew falters. Where the last beat had been quick and full of energy, this one is slower and full of bass. They attempt to use the bass to their advantage, but it's going far from in their favor. Hilde fakes a yawn, moving forward once more, waving her crew after her. Slow hip-hop is what got Hilde into street dancing. Her crew's movements are fluid, pulsing with each thump of bass. Occasionally, they tut, creating intricate patterns with their fingers. Being at the head of the crew, Hilde gets the privilege of mixing things up every once in a while. Deciding to taunt even more, she mimics some of the other group's footwork, matching it to the beat far better than they could've ever wished to.

Needless to say, Hilde's crew comes out champions. The gathered crowd surrounding both crews goes berserk over Hilde's group's moves, flooding the makeshift dance floor at the end of her group's retaliation, not even leaving the other crew the option of a comeback. Compliments are tossed in the air, resounding in Hilde's ears with the claps on her back and the victory shouts.

It's not long before Hilde ducks out, not one to enjoy social interactions. Being in the spotlight, she doesn't mind, but one-on-one interaction kind of freaks her out. And that's how Hilde ends up walking down another alley on the way home, one headphone in her ear as she tries out a few of dance moves together for a new routine.

Hilde's so focused on her feet that she doesn't notice she isn't alone until a sound reminiscent of hairspray being sprayed registers in her headphone-free ear. Instantly, her head snaps up. An unreasonable blush curls up her neck and over her cheeks. A black beanie is pulled down low over the man's hair, though she can see a braid falling down his back. Brave tattoos peek out from under his tattered t-shirt, glaring at Hilde like the intruder she is. For that hairspray sound is actually spray paint. He's spraying streak after streak over the brick wall, still not having noticed Hilde.

"It's not nice to stare." Well, she _thought_ he hadn't noticed her.

Hilde walks over, pulling the headphone from her ear and keeping a tight grip on the pepper spray she always keeps in her pocket. "It's not nice to vandalize," she retorts, coming to a halt a meter away from him, fearful of getting in his way and getting paint on herself.

He chuckles. "I'd hardly call this vandalizing. More like sprucing up an otherwise ugly city." He switches cans, producing neon green on the wall.

Hilde hums noncommittally. "I don't think the police would agree, no matter how right you are."

The paint stops spraying and he looks at her sideways. A small smile tugs at his lips. "But they're not going to know until it's too late, so screw them." His eyes ask Hilde if his words are true: is she going to rat on him?

Hilde nods. "Fuck the police," she laughs.

His smile grows as he nods in assent. He begins spraying again. "And why are you wandering around alleys?"

Hilde snorts, leaning back against a clear part of the wall and watching as he works. "I'm plenty capable of taking care of myself."

He glances to her, a smile lighting his eyes. "I never said you weren't."

Silence. Hilde blanks a little, expecting the chauvinistic "girls can't take care of themselves" talk. The grip on her pepper spray loosens a little. "I was headed home actually. From a battle."

His dark eyebrows raise and his eyes turn to the black-haired woman as his hands still spray on the wall. She is mesmerized by the way he can paint without even looking at his "canvas." "Dancer?" he asks. At her nod, he gives Hilde a once over, muttering, "Should've known."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, pushing off the wall indignantly.

He turns back to his art. "That you're built like a dancer's all." He shrugs.

Hilde leans against the wall again. "I'll take that as a compliment," she smirks.

His smile grows ever-so-slightly. "How it was intended," he mutters.

It's quiet again as he switches cans and sprays some finishing touches. "So, should I call you 'Picasso' or do you have another name?" Hilde teases.

That's when he signs the piece.

Hilde's eyes bug out of her head. She leans forward disbelievingly. The tag is none other than that of the notorious spray paint artist "Duo Maxwell," he smirks, seeing her expression. Duo Maxwell is the most well-known street artist in the city. His art can be found anywhere around the town, and is always easily recognized as his thanks to his signature tag in the bottom right-hand corner. Hilde chokes on nothing but air and surprise. "I see you might've heard of me?" Duo asks, the smirk tugging playfully at his lips.

Hilde clears her throat, resolving to act cool. "Maybe once or twice," she winks at him. "Hilde," she says, offering a hand to shake.

"Nice to meet you, Hilde," he says and she almost melts. Duo Maxwell, _the_ Duo Maxwell said her name. He smiles and takes her hand, accidentally smearing paint over her light skin.

"Looks like I've been tagged," Hilde jokes, looking at the blues and pinks that cover her hand.

He chuckles. "Well congratulations. The first person I've ever tagged."

"Never thought I'd see the day."

Duo's laugh is like raspy sunshine. "Everyone's going to be mobbing you for photos. Let me walk you home. It's the least I can do," he smirks, flashing Hilde his brilliant teeth.

She smiles, nodding. "The least you can do," Hilde repeats before the two leave the alley.


End file.
